


The Glorious Hunt

by HammieSlice



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Aedinfell, Hallucinations? If that counts?, Hunting, Other, Some notes of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammieSlice/pseuds/HammieSlice
Summary: Odin Arrow hunts best alone. Despite the lumbering form of his demon to keep him company, and newfound companions waiting for him within his home, he's traveled into the wilds of Aedinfell to provide for his people. But when things start to go wrong, will his pride clash with Pedri's, and leave them both stranded? Or will the want to return to his wife's vessel force them both to swallow it?(Could become a longer work in the future.)
Kudos: 13





	The Glorious Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a character study for one of my favorite boys- Odin Arrow of Ava's Demon. Right now, I have a bit more than I'm actually posting (because this is the bit I'm proud of), so it could become a longer work if I manage to get my shit together and actually do that! Anyways, I wanted to thank y'all for continuing to read my works, and have fun with this one. Peace!
> 
> \- Hammie

His arrow lands with a resounding thwack against the trunk of a nearby tree. The elk tips its head toward the sky, startled by the sound, before he starts to round his horse to give chase. Odin had missed once. He wasn’t going to miss again. Hooves churn snow, deep enough to rise just barely above the beasts ankles, as he rides after the elk. Now that his presence was known, Odin would only get one more shot before his window of opportunity closed. No hunting dogs aided him, no courtiers tried their hands at taking the kill. He hunted alone, just as he always had. His brother was the one to entertain the masses, or at least the one giving orders, while he remained in the background. Olai Arrow, King of Aidenfell. The thought nearly made him scoff. Olai wasn’t the king of anything, especially not the Arrow family— But he couldn’t argue. So he knocks another arrow, take aim, feels the fletching soft between his fingers. This was focus. This was a challenge. 

Strike. Odin listens to the elk moan in pain as the projectile sinks shaft-deep into its neck. The beast continues for another few paces, and then comes sliding to a stop, still panting as lifeblood slips from the wound. Carefully, the prince dismounts, wading through calf-deep snow to look over the elk. Antlers thrashing, it tries to take a swipe at him, but he jumps back in time for it to only slice through a bit of his coat. Well. That would be a pain to fix. After struggling to find an opening, Odin manages to grab a hold of one of the antlers- Scoring his hands up in the process, though it didn’t matter much if he bled- Holding the thing down and sighing. A quiet prayer. A slit throat. Soon enough he was dragging it’s corpse back toward his home while wrapping up his bloodied hand. A part of him didn’t particularly want to go home, but they needed the food, and…

The wind picks up. Pedri is walking beside him as he brings his horse into a canter. Not now. Not here. “Boy. You must move quickly, if you are to survive.” Odin doesn’t answer him. He’s tempted to take out his pipe, but that’s a risk, especially out in the open forest. “Do you not hear me? Shall you ignore me, as you always do? Insolent worm.”

“N-n-not ignoring you. Just not i-interested.” In lies and horrible illusions and odd rhymes or riddles. “At all.”

Pedri’s face twists into a scowl underneath his mask. It’s the first time his host has said a single word to him in weeks, and he chooses to be sarcastic? “You will die if you do not listen to me, here and now!”

The human shoots him a look of annoyance. After they both stare at each other for fifteen minutes or so, the only sound dragging fur and tamping hooves, the demon gives up it’s fight and relinquishes himself to walking beside Odin again. There’s a little spark of pride in that, the fact that he won. It’s lost quickly to the odd change in weather. Snow begins to fall in sheets, as the cloud cover worsens. Was this what he’d been warned about? If it got bad enough, there was a chance he’d lose his way, but- No. No, he would be fine. He was a tracker, and he’d been dealing with the changes in his home planet all his life. There was no other option to keep going. If he tried to camp down, the night would be far more dangerous than taking his chances in a simple storm.

Silence would be a blessing, now. Odin wraps scarves tighter around his face, over his ears, the only visible part of his form bright eyes leading the way in the blizzard. The storm had gotten progressively worse as time had passed, his horse tiring from both his forging pace and dropping temperature. If he’s right about his course, then there should only be another mile or so until home. But that’s a big if. Pedri still walks beside him, silent as they move, a stark purple ghost in the middle of white. 

Howling. His horse nickers at him, wanting to pick up pace but too exhausted to do so. Losing another animal would be disastrous, but carrying the elk himself would be insane. Pedri is grinning, a rumbling laugh in his throat, and even though Odin can’t touch him he would like to do nothing more than strangle the entity. Instead he knocks another arrow into place after pulling the bow from where it’s been resting over the back of the horse, holding it just barely at the ready, waiting for the wolves to come for slaughter. The wind scratches at him, rubs horrible red patches across his face and exposed fingers, snow flies into his eyes as his horse tries to move; wiped away in a jerked motion. No time for panic.

A break in the trees, and his first target comes careening toward the elk. It’s what they’re after, truly- The predators have become scavengers for lack of a hunt- And Odin fires. Yelping, the thing retreats into the white haze once more, as another races up to take its place. His muscles burn, legs working to keep hold on the saddle while his arms fling arrow after arrow at the beasts, most missing from the wicked wind tossing them off course. Curses in his native tongue string underneath his breath, stolen by the storm as wolves slowly work to surround him. Pedri waits, as he always does, for Odin to die. For him to be lost to purgatory so that he could see his wife, or perhaps so that he could finally gain some peace of mind.

One of the predators sinks its teeth into his horses hindquarters. It practically screams, rearing as they descend upon it, and Odin is thrown from the saddle in a heap; straight into an icy bank that takes his breath away on impact. Wheezing, he picks himself up, firing again and again into stark white space. He only hears the sound of one cut-off howl, and his horse whinnying and braying as it’s torn apart. The elk’s body is still laying where they’d first stopped. Wading through once more, he picks up the slackened rope, and tugs. No horse. No help.

This was going absolutely horribly. Which, really, what could he expect? With Pedri as such a bad luck charm, and his own idiocracy, there wasn’t much else Odin could try and do but forge ahead and hope he was going the right way. The elk is strung up over his shoulders, the blizzard only worsening into a white-out, and his demon only aids his way with a bright purple dragonfly to zip in a direction every so often. His patience is beginning to run thin.

“If you w-w-want to help me, th-then do something!” Odin’s voice is stricken with effort, and Pedri appears beside him, a cruel smile stretching wider than the fangs on his mask.

“But I am. Guiding your way back to my Wrathia.” His wife. The only reason Pedri wanted to get him back home was because of his wife. Because of Ava Ire. “Follow the dragonflies.”

“What d-do you think I’ve been doing f-f-for the past hour?”

“Clearly you haven’t been doing it well, mortal.” Odin nearly grows at the thing. What game was he playing?

“Because I c-can’t see!”

“That sounds like a problem for you, whelp. See, or die.”

His scoff is drowned out by his scarf slapping up against his already chapped lips. Wet fabric sticks to dead skin, and Odin has to tear it away from his face in order to properly breathe, gasping with exertion as he goes along. The way his legs shake make him unsteady, rope burning and twisting the flesh of his hands, but the prince continues on his path. Another dragonfly buzzes it’s way in front of him, shooting off in another direction- And then it roundabouts back to where he was. That… That was new. He shoots a look toward Pedri, confused, and the demon only offers up a shrug. Well, it was better than nothing. So he follows the dragonfly. This time it stays, buzzing from his face in the direction he needs to go and back again, landing on the tip of his nose every so often as if it needed to take breaks. It smells vaguely like smoke and lavender. Almost an incense.

It still takes him until nightfall to reach the castle again. Odin slams the door open to Merita with a cloak half-wrapped around her form, and she yelps at the sudden bout of frost and cold blowing in through the entryway. Though upon spotting him, she’s at his side in an instant, helping him shed wet outer layers as he moves toward the foyer. 

“Your highness! Oh, I was just about to go and search for you, I-”

“D-d-don’t worry about it, Merita. Just t-take this to the hall.”

“But you’re-”

“I’m fine.”

Her face twists in annoyance. Oh no. Merita takes a hold of one of his hands, starting to drag him along after he drops the elk for some other servant to pick up- Most likely her mother. Strong as an ox, that one. Odin tries to insist that he really doesn’t need help, that there isn’t a point in trying to heal him up, but she’s going too anyways because Merita is just… She’s like that. She cares for everyone. It might get her killed someday, but he appreciates it now. Quietly, he makes a note that if he ever gets the chance to become king, to promote her. But Odin’s train of thought is lost when Merita starts tugging off his undershirt while leading him into his bedchambers. Had they really moved through the castle so quickly?

“One of the men you brought in was a doctor, correct?”

“Yes, h-his name’s Gil.”

“I will go and make his acquaintance. Sit!”

“W-w-what? Merita, I’m n-not a-”

“Sit! I know I am speaking out of place, your majesty, but you’re going to catch a chill.” She glances over him worriedly, and then turns on her heel to head out of the room. “And only that, if you’re lucky…”

Odin, for once, does as asked. Mertia would kill him if he tried anything else, and if she had Gil on the way, then he wouldn’t be able to escape at least a check-up. Maybe a test for hypothermia. And only that- If you're lucky. The corners of his mouth curve into a not quite condescending smirk as her words echo back through his ears, slowly allowing himself to fall back onto the four poster bed his maid had forced him onto.


End file.
